


ready to start

by r1ker



Category: Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism, i didn't plan on it but it's whatevs, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ghost protocol gave us will and the rich guy, and now that's a mission</p>
            </blockquote>





	ready to start

**Author's Note:**

> mi5 squad is at it again
> 
> enjoyyy
> 
> title's the arcade fire song, yep

Ethan proposes phase three. It’s not under official IMF letterhead, so Will doesn’t initially take it seriously. When he opens the light file folder and takes a peek at the contents, he starts to consider it a little more professionally. Simply put, the title at the top of the first page is “Seducing the Rich Guy – Brandt, Phase III” and he laughs out loud. 

Surprising to Will, there’s a great deal of steps beneath the header material. Hell, it even pinpoints the very location he’s supposed to go to finish the deal. Ethan and company seem to have picked some upscale hotel on the higher end of London, rented out a suite and attached the corresponding keys with tape at a break on the page. 

Furthermore there seems to be a strategy to what Will playfully quipped under what he thought was no one in particular’s listening ear. Ethan will be dropping him at the hotel at seven that night, fully wired and able to get whatever he needs from the subject, then extracting him later on in the evening. It sounds simple enough. That is, until Will reads further on down the document.

The subject is the Prime Minister. Not a bad looking guy by the headshot they’ve provided, Will’s got nothing against him for his looks, but still. It’s the Prime Minister, for Christ’s sakes, and he’s got to work seduction skills he hasn’t used in years to get the job done. 

Ethan walks in and finds him gawking at the file. “Everything to your liking?”

“If by ‘liking’ you mean I have to seduce and possibly have sex with the most powerful man in England, then sure,” Will says without much fault. He’s resigned himself to it now. If he’s ever given a job, he’s always sure to give it his all. 

“When push comes to shove we never fail to put more than our backs into it, I guess,” Ethan dismisses with a sigh, pulling the file over to himself to give it one last look before sending it off to Hunley for approval. “You’re alright with this, right? We’re going to drop you at a nondescript restaurant that we’ve got intel the Prime Minister’s going to be at tonight. His wife’s out of the country on some charity business. It should be wide open.”

Will nods, flips to the end of the brief. Once completed, Brandt will be extracted back to IMF headquarters for debriefing. If the information produced is legible and able to produce some sort of lead, it will then be forwarded to the CIA and MI6. He tenses a little when he sees just how much this is riding on. Again he tips his head in agreement and goes to the locker room to suit up. 

Someone, he’d have to put money on Julia, left a nice three-piece suit hanging on the hook in front of his locker. It’s not gaudy at all for what Will has experienced in the past as far as going-out suits, done in black fabric on top and bottom but with a nice burgundy tie slung through a loop in the hanger. A part of him says it belongs to Ethan, lent out for the night and to an uncertain fate. Shoes match it too, paired neatly together on the floor at his feet. Will laughs when he kneels and finds black and white pinstripe socks balled up in each shoe. With the socks is a nice box of breath mints – yes, this whole ruse is Julia’s, this confirms this – and a vial of cologne. 

He dresses quickly, chews on two of the mints during assembling himself in the suit and its accompaniments, and finishes to walk over to the bench to tie his shoes. Will catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he’s got to say, Julia dresses Ethan for sure because he’d never look this nice of his own volition. Ethan’s so low-key – Will remembers visiting the two of them early on when he was new to the IMF and in need of someone who’d listen to him – that he really only wore carpenter jeans and oversized long-sleeved shirts when not working a mission. This suit is so unlike him but he loves it. 

Ethan’s in casual wear when Will walks down to the garage. Benji’s suited up too, dressed comfortably in a large worn sweatshirt and well-loved jeans, headphones canceling out his presence in the room. Will watches his eyes flit across his laptop screen, pupils expanding and contracting in an effort to better absorb the message before him. Will waves his hand in his direction but to no avail. 

“I’ve got Benj running all the fine details. He’ll be on the other end of the comm if anything goes wrong,” Ethan explains, getting in the back of the van next to him. Luther, Will can see, is at the wheel tonight as usual, cap pulled down over his head and yellowed paperback book tucked into the spokes of the steering wheel. They all look like they’re settled in for a long night. Will snickers when he sees a sleeping bag spread out over the floor of the back of the van. 

Hell, Will doesn’t even know if his phone’s fully charged for the night and the rest of his team is in better condition preparation-wise than he is. And he’s the one doing the dirty work. Well, hopefully neat-and-tidy work. 

He hops in and scrolls through the news on his phone on their way to the restaurant. Benji still hasn’t looked up from his laptop, fingers pecking away at the keyboard half-heartedly. There’s now a slight tinny noise coming from his headphones, some sort of quick-paced music played much too loudly to be safe. Gum wrappers litter the floor at his feet, getting caught beneath the soles of his sneakers.

Will takes him in, hopes his staring isn’t too obvious, and soon they’re at the restaurant. Luther lets him out in a well-lit alley and nods at him in a gesture of goodbye. Ethan claps him on the shoulder and Benji glances up. He blinks once, twice, then goes back to typing like before.

On his way to the foyer of the restaurant, Will tries his best to shrug off Benji’s noncommittal attitude towards tonight’s mission. He’s probably uncomfortable with the grand scheme of it all and Will doesn’t blame him. To sit back and listen to one of your friends get laid all in the name of national security can’t sit well with much of anyone, let alone Benji, who’s grown close to Will. Oh, well, Will reckons; he’ll make it up to him later.

Will spots the Prime Minister not ten minutes after having taken a seat at the bar. A glass of whiskey warms in his right hand and he’s just starting to grow tired of watching the condensation run down the glass and onto his skin when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Waiting on someone, are you?” And damn, Will’s not going to be able to deny this later no matter how hard he tries to, the Prime Minister’s a smooth man. Shorter than he was expecting, however; Will can tell by the way he holds himself in his expensive suit and shoes that there are risers giving him a bit more of a boost than nature allowed him. 

“Not in particular, no,” Will plays along just as well. He moves his leg over to allow him to sit down on the stool next to him. “Just wasting my time, I suppose. There’s nothing better to do tonight anyhow.” The Prime Minister smiles at him, a bit more satisfied now that he knows he can make his preplanned move without much consequence. 

Will meets his eyes only briefly – God, he’s blushing harder than he had planned to at the notion of this whole thing – and sees something mischievous stirring behind them. He gives in, decides to play along and even add to the ruse. He’s nothing if not a team player, he reckons.

“I’d figure you’d be in for the night,” Will observes, waving over the bartender to refill his glass. “You look like you’ve got someplace to be, something to do, somewhere to go.” He thinks for a second on a way to add on to his fake backstory. “I’m just wasting time. How nice you look, you probably aren’t.”

The Prime Minister scoffs, takes a long sip of his own drink in response. “Not really, no. What the rest of my people wanted to do tonight, I didn’t want to have any hand in. I came here to escape, get away from it all for tonight.” He pauses, looks at Will over the rim of his glass. “I’m glad I did.”

They talk for a while, seemingly about nothing. Will (and Benji, passively, he supposes) gets an earful about the weather, the incoming rain the PM knows is on the horizon, and the downright awful performance of Manchester football in the game the week before. He nods and smiles, waiting all the while for the man to cut to the chase and whisk him away to some sort of secret lair to complete the rest of the night. 

It comes.

Will feels that hand return to his back, lower this time, and coax him to stand and turn to face away from the bar. It takes all of him not to snicker at the height difference between the two of them, what could be four inches easily, as they begin to walk from the restaurant to outside. 

Once the cool air strikes Will’s face, two hands come to cup his jaw and he bends down on reflex to meet the minister’s mouth. It’s been years since he’s done this in any fashion and if it were uncouth of him to say this, he’d say he was rusty and unfit to go forth properly. The PM takes over entirely, hands drinking in through their roaming palms and fingertips the expanse of Will’s skin. 

Will’s brain is starved of any potable oxygen. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t comprehend anything than the mouth against his, and the tongue pressing at his insistently. He opens up mindlessly to grant him more. Will won’t allow him to touch the other, keeping his hands firmly at his side to not make this seem like more than it really is, but it seems to do numbers in increasing the voracity and intensity of the attention he’s being given. As it begins to rise to a fever pitch, he is once again taken by the hand into a neighboring inn, almost dragged for how urgent it is. 

Something in him says Luther isn’t following behind at all. 

Once the door shuts behind the two of them Will is easily led down onto the bed almost gentlemanly, one hand at the small of his back and the other resting on his shoulder. At this point Will is well accustomed to the gentleness of his touches. It’s almost uncharacteristically proper and charming. This isn’t charm, Will has to tell himself as he’s divested of his suit, of his shoes and socks, the wire as well. 

The prime minister stands above him, easing his own clothing off too, and Will finds himself reaching down onto the floor for the condom beneath the sole of his shoe. He’s lucky the bed is so low-lying, because he finds it easily and slips it beneath his bare thigh for later; he figures they’ll be needing it. 

When the prime minister gets a bit too handsy, urgency almost completely knocking loose the wire taped to Will’s ear, Will stops him with a hand to the concave curve of his breastbone. “Stop, let me.” He eases the prime minister back onto the mound of pillows at the head of the bed. Will lowers himself down, one leg on either side of the prime minister’s thighs, and sits. He rolls the condom down, grabs for lube placed in a notch in the headboard, and fingers himself open as briefly and thoroughly as he can in this position. 

Again, it really has been a while since he’s done this. Just two fingers, a gesture that would have had him begging for more in the past, is enough to have him reeling, breathing heavily against the weighty silence taking over the room. He can see this is one hell of a show for the prime minister, who watches raptly with no intention of joining in. However, he keeps one of his hands on the curve of Will’s thigh. 

Will can’t hear what he says just barely – his own breathing is almost enough to overpower the soft sound of his words – but he makes out, “You’re exquisite. Lovely.” Just as Will thinks he’s about to lose it, come like he’s been wanting to for excruciating minutes now, the prime minister removes his hand, slides his cock alongside where Will’s fingers were once were. 

Will moans aloud, he can’t help how good it will always be, and trails off into a deep breath. He tips his head up to the ceiling, can see the stark engraving of precise crown molding through the filmy haze forming over his line of vision. For his troubles a set of teeth worry at the skin of his neck, move down to suck kisses into his collarbones. At this Will begins to move in tandem, rising up onto the tops of his knees and sinking down onto the cock behind him. 

The prime minster is breathing heavily, hands struggling to find a grip. He struggles to hold back thrusting up into Will and instead settles for keeping still on the bed while Will rides him with one hand gripping up onto the headboard. The height difference, again, makes this experience awkward posture-wise, the prime minister’s face resting against Will’s chest, tilted out to suck in lungfuls of air. 

“Good?” Will asks a few minutes in, breathless. He’d have to say it was at least; best he’s had in a while if he had to complete some sort of survey afterwards. It’s slowly starting to overcome his preconceived notions of bland mission sex. The prime minister nods his head rapidly, takes handfuls of Will’s skin in response. 

Will’s just about to pick up the pace, finish this off once and for all and answer to the urgency of his orgasm pooling low in his gut, when he hears something in the distance. It’s like someone’s breathing shakily into a mouthpiece of a headset, raspy and uneven in tempo. His eyes go wide when he remembers just who it is on the other end. Then, remembering just how standoffish Benji was the night before, decides to put on a show. 

Benji can’t stand it. 

He can’t see much of anything – Ethan didn’t grant him much visual access outside of the restaurant – so he plays most of the evening by ear. He suffers through the mindless and frankly rather cheesy conversation Will keeps up with the prime minster. All the while he abstains from jumping in, telling Will to hurry it the hell up and fuck the information out of the guy already. 

Instead he keeps a few tabs open in his Internet browser, watches a few episodes of The Walking Dead as if they’re silent movies from 1912, and beats Ethan in a few rounds of solitaire, laptop previously slid over silently for them both to partake in a few episodes. 

The second Will initiates the affair, Benji lets the line go silent. He mutes his end and lets the information, noise, whatever Will’s got to say feed into a recorder app for playback later, when he’s got the stomach for it. Nothing in him wants to tempt another side of him, unmute it for just a second to get an earful of what Will’s doing. 

Except once. Just once, he mouses over to rid the speaker icon of the little red X, and almost jumps out of his skin at the first noise. Will’s breathing is so loud; it seems to eclipse whatever words the two of them make during. Benji gulps, looks over to make sure Ethan’s falling asleep and not watching him lose his shit entirely. He’s right, Ethan’s eyes are sliding shut and his face is falling forward onto the sleeping bag. Benji turns up the volume just a little. He listens.

Benji’s not going to say how he knows when the two of them are fucking. Something just changes, a charge in the air takes a different form, and soon he’s listening in on someone he considers his friend riding the most powerful man in the United Kingdom. The saliva on the back of his throat becomes hard to swallow. A fine sweat accompanied with a minor shake takes over the finer points of his features and he has to pull down his headphones for just a second to regain himself. 

He sighs, rolls his eyes, and goes back in with his headphones. That is his job isn’t it, to listen? 

Will groans and digs his knees further into the pillows that have slid down to rest beneath him. He laughs when he sees the prime minister’s shut his eyes entirely, succumbed to the feeling of it all. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

A groan in response, “The best I’ve had. Ever, you’re the one.” Soon their motions become more urgent, purposeful; desperate to seek an end they both want. Want in different ways, of course, but nonetheless Will needs this burn to be extinguished before it threatens to consume him. 

“I sure hope I’m the only one,” Will murmurs, slowing down just a little to give affection to this affair. His hands rest at the back of the prime minister’s neck, thumbing softly at coarse hair, all the while his hips work down and in. “I’m the only one that could make you feel like this, aren’t I?” Again the one beneath him nods viciously. 

“Stop,” a voice in Will’s ear warns with a fine tremor. “Stop this, Will, stop this.” Will’s so blinded by the pleasure shaking his thighs and causing him to bite the inside of his cheek that he comes with nothing but his own benefit on his mind. The notion of coming causes him to cry out, loud enough for anyone in a close radius to get a rather alarming earful of it. He comes down from the high with a series of deep breaths, open-mouthed and angled right over the prime minister’s head. Oh, and he still hasn’t come yet that Will can tell. He’s still working on it, thrusting faster and faster to a level that Will’s body almost can’t handle, when the push comes. He hides his groan in the curve of Will’s shoulder, teeth bearing down on the sharp slope of bone. 

They part mutually, each taking one side of the now-ruined bed. Will now plans to turn the real goal of the mission into pillow talk. Using one end of the bed sheet Will wipes the sweat and come from his chest and uses the salvageable end of it to cover the lower half of his body. 

“I was meaning to tell you,” the prime minister says, voice still small in the face of post-orgasm exhaustion, “I can’t stay for long. I’ve got something to tend to.”

“And what might that be?” Will presses, seeing this as the perfect opportunity. 

“A little business exchange on the south side of town, and I’ll need to be there before my client mistakes mine and my colleagues’ absence for disinterest. I’ve appreciated this all, really,” he confesses without fault and for some reason, something pokes at Will’s chest that urges him to feel bad. To hell with it, he’s got what he needed. Business on the south side of town, that could be anything. All he hopes is that Benji got it, and they leave it at that.

When the prime minister gets up to get redressed, he leans over the other side to kiss Will almost languidly. Will tilts into that gesture, the hand accompanying it on the surface of his right cheek. The door clicks shut behind him as he leaves, and Will’s alone. 

With his solace comes a wave of thoughts, many of them alarming. He starts to think about everything he said during, dismisses two-thirds of it as shit blinded by arousal, and really tries to avoid thinking about just how much of it Benji heard. If he’s lucky Benji put him on mute, stepped away to piss outside the van or fell asleep. Or maybe, he’s fucked and Benji wasn’t doing anything but acting as the elephant in the room. 

Will finds the strength to get out of bed and get dressed. He steps out into the hall carefully, mindful of anyone else who could be occupying rooms in the hall. Fortunately no one else seems to be there so he slips out through a back door and makes his way down a service staircase. 

Outside the chill of the night is much more intense than it was before. He pulls his suit jacket tighter around him and hurries back to the direction where he thinks the van is. It’s still there, idling quietly now that the mission’s over.

Will undoes the latch on the back door and hops in, carefully to avoid a sleeping Ethan, who’s taken the liberty of sprawling out on the floor with his legs carefully tangled through Benji’s feet and around the feet of the bench seats. He looks straight ahead and taps on the glass partition telling Luther to step on it. 

The van hums to life with a press of the gas pedal and they’re smoothly merging into London traffic once again, picking up speed on a highway to the south side of the capital. It’s still dead silent in the back of the van, save for Ethan’s soft breathing and rustling of the sleeping bag’s vinyl as he lightly tosses in his sleep.

Benji is again staring at his laptop, brow furrowed at something internal he doesn’t want to let out. He finally stops, slams the screen down and shoves it to the side. “I got it all.”

Will looks at him, a little bewildered. “What, the location we’ve got to go to or?”

“No, all the noises,” Benji almost chokes out. He runs both hands over his face and takes in a deep breath through the spaces of his fingers. “I heard it all. I listened to him fuck you and I got mad, I was so mad, I…” He trails off again on the end of a long breath. 

“Why were you mad? I wasn’t cheating on you.” Will laughs a little at that, thinks he’s making a good crack until he looks at Benji’s face again and sees his eyes nearly pleading. Benji blinks rapidly a few times, looks back to his computer, pulls it back into his lap, and stares at it so intently Will knows it’s becoming a distraction, so he snatches it away. “What’s your problem, huh? It’s not me having sex with him; you’ve got something else you want to say. Say it, would you?”

“It should have been me.” And there it is. Benji’s face is about as red as the sweatshirt he’s got on. His eyes are pleading as he stares up hard. “Or rather, it should have been you and I. Not him. Never him, not for a second. But of course, I can’t say that, so I settle for grumbling and groaning on the speaker and hoping for a second that you’d get the hint and – “

Will kneels down, narrowly avoiding Ethan’s legs, and tugs him in closer with a hand around his neck, kissing him to shut him up and satisfy the need he didn’t know he had until now. Benji startles and tries to pull back but Will grips him tighter, digs fingers into the short scruff of his hair. Soon Benji melts into his grip and his mouth and when Ethan blinks awake a few minutes later, he lies back down to allow the two of them whatever privacy one can get in the back of their cramped van.


End file.
